


The wee small hours of the morning

by Moonstruckidiot



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi - Fandom
Genre: Hux is Not Nice, Insomnia, M/M, One Shot, POV Hux, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, he's a good general though, short fic, slight mention of self harm but not really, tired Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonstruckidiot/pseuds/Moonstruckidiot
Summary: Hux isn't sleeping well so he mulls over a few things





	The wee small hours of the morning

**Author's Note:**

> no beta
> 
> this is more of an idea really than a fully formed fic

 

Since Kylo Ren became Supreme Leader General Hux is always surprised to wake up. There are days when he wishes he didn’t.

A sheet lies twisted around his legs a sign of a fitful sleep. He raises himself just enough to straighten things out before falling back heavily against his pillow.

A sigh escapes him but not the bitter taste of disappointment which birthed it. It runs through his body like a sickness making him hot, cold, sweaty.  He has always had a tendency to please, to placate those who could do him harm. It has helped him survive but at the cost of feeling like nothing, something just to be flung around by those better than him. In a surge of self loathing he sits up, elbows on knees head in hands and bares his teeth to the sightless night. That part of him is both old and young and if he could, if it were possible, he’d cut it out. He can imagine it, the blade glinting in his hand, blood and satisfaction flowing. But perhaps, he chuckles to himself, there are better places for a knife than his own wretched flesh.

Dragging a hand through his hair he lowers himself back down. He is tired but then when has he ever not been. It clings to the hollows of his cheeks and lays heavy on his limbs.  As familiar and as irritating as an old friend yet one he can’t imagine his life without.

It is this time when sleep eludes him and he is wrapped in the shroud of darkness that he feels the hum of the ship the most. Outside of his door, men and women breath, hearts beat and routines are followed. The thought soothes him as does the knowledge he still has their loyalty.

Respect and loyalty are earned, and he has earned theirs even if it is slightly tarnished of late. He is their General, it is he who holds their lives in his hands and he is not wasteful with them.

Supreme Leader Ren, bile rises at just the thought of the man, there is little to be done about him for the time being. Hux will just have to be patient, be useful, be compliant. After all he is a strategist the best there is and so much more than that besides. It is within the gift of his hands and his mind to create weapons, armies and empires.   

He will offer it all to Ren, he’ll even suck his fucking cock, well and often, if it means he, his people and the First Order will survive.

For now he needs to rest, take stock and wait. He is still young, he has time.

He gets up, sits on the edge of the bed and waits for a slight wooziness to pass before heading for the refresher.

Once clean and dressed he looks at himself in the mirror and straightens his collar. He should practice his smile but he has little energy for that.

The walk to the bridge is mercifully quiet, he passes a few storm troopers acknowledging them with a nod.

He takes up his position watching his officers carrying out their duties then he counts the minutes until the Supreme Leader inevitably calls for him.


End file.
